Summer Reading Part 2: I Only Read This Book Because It’s Being Made Into a Movie

Second in a series of remarks to prove I did something intellectual this summer. Starred titles indicate books I particularly enjoyed.

The Prestige
Christopher Priest

Following movies as obsessively as I do, I’ve noticed an uptick in magic-themed movies of late, including The Illusionist, Scoop, War Magician, and some movies about a certain bespectacled teen with the initials of HP. The Prestige, is yet another entry. Because Christopher Nolan (given my eternal admiration for Memento) is directing and Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman are taking up the leads (can you say yummy), I decided to check out this book.

The cover of The Prestige looked like the schlock sci-fi fantasy stuff dominating YA shelves—not a good sign. The paperback cover, shown here, is a huge improvement. Cover art judging aside (of course it’s a reasonable criterion, you absolutely must judge books by their cover), The Prestige is a decent book. The author cleverly makes use of shifting POVs to conceal his plot twist, but his framing device dragged the story before it even started. The Prestige is not driven by good writing or even good plotting, but by the one quality that makes stage magic so interesting: the “How the hell did he do that?” reaction. I sped through the pages trying to figure out how the tricks were performed, and I must say the results are a bit disappointing. It looks to be an entertaining movie, but the best I can do is damning it with some faint praise as a book.

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* Stardust *

Neil Gaiman

I’ve heard the name Neil Gaiman being tossed around forever, but I’ve never read anything by him until now. Turns out, I’ve been missing A LOT. Stardust is an enchanting and adventurous tale that seems at once familiar and utterly new. The story is cut in the classical medieval mold—indeed, it revels in archetypes and clichés—but it is also infused with a wondrous innocence. It’s told with an almost childish marvel; in Faerieland, nursery rhymes reign and childhood fantasies become real. But all this innocence, and our hero Tristran’s naïveté, only cloak the darker themes at play because in the idyllic land of Faerie, murder and death is the still of the currency of villains—and there sure are a lot of them. It saddens me to hear that Gaiman’s other writings are radically different from Stardust, but count my butt in for this movie.

Summer Reading Part 1: Are You There God?

First in a series of remarks to give the impression I did something intellectual this summer. Starred titles indicate books I particularly enjoyed.

* Life of Pi *
Yann Martel

Life of Pi is one of those rare cases where critical interpretation allowed me greater appreciation. An appreciation that has since grown into unabridled love and admiration. Magical! Miraculous! I want to leap up and down shouting every positive phrase to describe this book. Complete with an exclamation mark!

The author approaches religion from such a fresh angle that even I, an avowed atheist, could not help but agree. Perhaps it is because Life of Pi does not preach a story, but tells one. Pi’s journey at sea is characterized not by feverishly renewed faith, but a raw survival instinct—an instinct that speaks to every one one of us, regardless of our belief in a god or the lack thereof.

At sea for months sharing a lifeboat with a tiger, Pi survives against outrageous odds. As Pi’s journey spirals more and more into the outlandish, Yann Martel manages to hold our believability by the thinnest of threads. It is really a testament to his exquisite prose that we want to believe Pi’s story against all odds, even when it becomes wholly fantasy. But nothing quite prepares you for the stroke at the end, where all plot and thematic points are pulled together with the fluidity and grace of a master storyteller. And the symbolism, subtle but clear, is the kind that adds another layer to the story, rather than shows off the author’s metaphorical thought.

In the book’s framing device, a writer is told to seek Pi, now an old man, who will relate a story that will make him believe in God. The writer asks if it’s the tale of Jesus or Muhammad, but is told that it is neither; it is the story of Pi Patel. A dozen viewings of The Passion of the Christ and Bible classes will not make me believe in God; Life of Pi has at least made me want to believe. A miracle on this wizened old cynic heart.

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Brideshead Revisited
Evelyn Waugh

Err….umm…uhh…I really don’t remember this book. It was dead and done with some time around the 4th of July, and it has not stuck. I bought this book even longer ago at a library book sale because I feel in love with the cover, which was a loopy and cartoonish rendition of two bodies without heads. (There we go again, judging books by their cover.) This book was not nearly as funny as its cover would lead you to believe. Yes, it was amusing to read about Charles Ryder and Sebastian Flyte drunkenly carousing with whores and the Oxford version of frat boys, but it was amusing in the way watching little kids pick their noses is amusing. The second half of the book shifts radically from free-wheeling college to high-society and Sebastian Flyte suddenly drops out of the plot. Catholicism also plays a major role, and I gathered the novel somehow came out pro-Catholic…but I didn’t understand any of it. Maybe I need some Socratic seminars with Anthony? No thanks, I’d rather have my talking tigers with Pi Patel. This is why I do not read classical literature—I never like it and come out feeling like a dumbass.

Wit of the Staircase

l'esprit de l'escalier n. Fre. "Those biting ripostes that are thought of just seconds too late, on the way down the stairs—or even, to tell the truth, days later." As coined by Diderot, best known as author of the original Encyclopedia. Literally, "the wit of the staircase."

This perfectly describes, well, everything. How many times have I stood flabbergasted in debate, or even in simple conversation, feeling vaguely insulted but having nothing to respond. And then it strikes, in the shower, that "perfect biting repost." Why does my mind work on just a lag?

Adventures Among Stacks of Compressed and Bleached Wood Pulp

The impending arrival of September points to that one thing I wish to avoid: college admissions. But there can no more procrastinating, so I holed up in Barnes & Nobles for 45 minutes of quality time with a college guide. Bored as I was of statistics and numbers, I picked up a guide claiming to be written entirely by students at their respective college.

If you picked three random students to describe AB, I bet their responses would be nothing like the AB I know and both love and hate. So I took their descriptions with a pinch of salt, but one recurring theme showed up profile after profile: alcohol. Every student devoted substantial space and ink to the school’s campus alcohol policy and student drinking habits. Dear little sheltered me, I know they down alcohol like water on college campuses, but I never expected the attitude to be so blasé. The most disheartening thing is, I expect I will also be a barely lucid drunk throwing up into dorms two years from now. Damn if my parents read this.

The rest of the time at my beloved if overpriced B&N was spent reading a library copy of Absurdistan, a satirical portrait of a fat Russian Jew cum wannabe American. Yes, I read library books in bookstores. Despite knowing I can borrow pretty much any book I wanted from a library, I still have that overwhelming urge to blind buy books for the sake of collecting. Given my meager resources, I only ended up affording a $2.97 copy of The Age of Innocence. When will I finally read this book? Probably when I’m jobless and broke 5 years from now.

Speaking of libraries, I also spent some more time among book stacks at the Lexington library. Whenever I walk in a library or bookstore, I always pause for a moment and breath in awe, as if by simply breathing, I could soak in some molecules of knowledge from this vast depository of information. I originally came to sing the praises of Lexington’s lib, but once the novelty wore off, I realized it’s not that much better than Acton’s. Or maybe it’s just my Actonian superiority complex kicking in. But I must admit, Lexington has a kick-ass nonfiction and audiovisual collection.

After browsing through the upper-floor, which is entirely devoted to nonfiction, I made a beeline to the shelves of DVDs. The first thing I encountered was a special ledge labeled “Foreign Films,” which caused a snicker to escape from my lips. Snooty? Yes, but it’s my pet peeve when “foreign” is labeled as a genre, since the parameters for tagging a foreign film are determined arbitrarily by geography anyways. However, since Lexington seems to have its share of cinephiles, perhaps the label caters to those who endure subtitled fare to stoke their psuedo-intellectual egos. (Like me.) In any case, the collection was rather meager despite containing a few Criterions, most likely because the majority of DVDs had been checked out. The VHS collection, however, was an embarrassment of gems. I now have a stack of ratty old VHSs, labels wearing off but proudly displaying the titles The Rules of the Game, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, and Two English Girls. Seriously, I should quit Netflix and just rely on the free resources of my public libraries.

The last leg of my Saturday afternoon sojourn was Costco—the haven of large families, small businesses, and cheapskates of all sizes. Other than the free samples, my favorite part of Costco has always been the book section. Maybe I’ve just grown too inured to satisfaction, but Costco seems to now only carry chick lit and cheap Da Vinci Code knock-offs. Nothing wrong with that…but get back to your quality bestsellers. I want to at least pretend I read worthwhile books. If the literature section was lacking, a real DVD bargain sure got my pulse racing again. Eternal Sunshine + Lost in Translation = ONLY $8.99! I may not be much of a clothing shopper, but I certainly can smell out a good DVD or book bargain. Never mind that I already own a Lost in Translation DVD…must make plans to sell some movies I don’t love.

The Costco food court, site of a dozen quick lunches and dinners, was also the chosen place of my brother’s huge tantrum. Despite my reasoning that veggie pizza is cheese pizza because it still contains cheese, my brother screamed and stomped for real cheese pizza. Silly boy, he needs to eat his vegetables.

This has been way longer than I expected, but I guess that compensates for slacking off all of August.

People Watching at Harvard Square

• Two aging hippes reading The Economist. Hippie One wearing bright pink Hawaiian-boho combo shirt. Hippie Two sporting hemp woven sack decorated into some semblance of clothing. Both smelled strongly of a smoked substance--legality undetermined.

• Middle-aged man hunched over ledge with nondescript gray t-shirt and khakis. Eating cinnamon and raisin bagel (identified by distinct smell)--equally gray and drab colored. Nominally boring except for words "Cinderella Man" emblazed across t-shirt. Do not know whether lack of hygiene, heterosexuality or self-esteem beholdened him to wear said shirt.

• Portly Hispanic lady with two-year-old girl in tow. Her short, clingy, and sheer black shirt reveals a large tattoo across lower back: Doggy Style, with a Playboy bunny in between the two words. O_O What will she say when her daughter starts asking about the tattoos?